


Narcissus

by Tangerine



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Body Image, Gen, POV First Person, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-01
Updated: 2000-02-01
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine





	Narcissus

If true beauty exists, will someone please show me what it is? Maybe I'm blind, maybe I'm just not aware, or maybe somebody told me I was beautiful once. I can see it, blond hair, blue eyes, charming smile. I mean, who wouldn't find that beautiful?

But then, somehow, that beauty became me.

It was never, my, what a handsome young gentleman you are, little Warren Worthington. It was always, what an amazingly beautiful child, or worse yet, you'd swear that boy was an angel with that face. I wonder, sometimes, if my mutation wasn't the wings themselves, but my body reacting to the comments they threw at me when they thought I was too young to understand.

It makes me think.

Think, you might ask? Warren Worthington, the resident himbo of the X-Men, thinking? Well, stranger things have happened, and I have been known to do it now and again, but you know me, never thinking unless it's downright necessary. I think now it is.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not as air-headed as most people would assume. I am actually reasonably well-educated, with a bachelor's degree in business that I earned not with my money but with my brains. See? I'm not as dumb as I'd have you believe.

There's a myth in Greek literature. Narcissus. Damn bastard fell in love with his own reflection. He gave up the love of a women for his own self-centred desires. Narcissus. I can't count the number of times someone substituted that word for my name. Sure, I look in the mirror. It's inevitable. They're everywhere, but I'm hardly in love with the face that stares back. I'm not my type. I prefer brunettes. 

God, don't tell Betsy that. I want that stricken from the record.

I wonder sometimes, if I was truly ugly, would people even like me? I know, sob story, but it's a reasonable concern. My skin's blue, you don't need to throw that in my face, but you can't guess the different type of adoration that brings. I get all the questions. When you blush, do you turn purple? What colour would you turn if you were asphyxiated? Is your penis blue?

Hell, no, I answer. It suddenly goes this odd shade of burgundy from time to time, I think it's diseased, I think I'll cut it off.

Ignorant people. 

"Warren?"

Hold on. "Yeah?"

"Are you aware you aren't wearing a strip of clothing?"

You know that. I know that. Now she knows that. "Vaguely. I was wondering where the draft was coming from." Jean smirks. "My stuff is in the laundry." Jean smirks. "Gambit stole my clothes and sold them to the highest bidder." Jean smirks. "He got a whole five dollars."

"Honestly, Warren, where are you clothes?"

I turn from the mirror, ignoring the merry smile on the lips of your face. "I'm a narcissus, Jean, haven't you heard? We don't need clothes."

"Is that where the mirror comes in?"

I turn away from her, and I see you're smiling. Funny girl, Jean is, doesn't debate it, doesn't question, she's just concerned about my blatant nudity. "No, the mirror just happened to be here when I stepped into the hall. Someone put it on the wall. Across from my room."

"I thought it looked nice there. You like mirrors."

"So do you."

Jean blinks. "Okay, Warren. I'll take it down."

You're laughing now. You're terrible. "Don't bother. I rather like it."

"Warren, if you need to talk, you know where I am." She pats my shoulder and shakes her head before wandering away, still shaking her head, still telekinetically patting my shoulder. "You're too young for a mid-life crisis, Warren!"

"Never too early to get a head start!" I call it back merrily and fix my hair in the mirror, waiting for your nod of approval. Approval is very important to me. I've been in the spotlight my entire life, reading people misquote me, reading people comment on my shoes. My shoes! As if my feet were more important than the head on my shoulders. Warren Worthington, billionaire mutant, has small feet. A small penis. A small brain. They're all connected.

But my feet only look small.

"There any occasion for the lack of clothes?"

"Do you ever even talk to me when I'm dressed, Remy?"

"Never had a reason to talk, homme, not one that you wouldn't kill me over, I mean."

"Then no, just felt like being naked today. Think of it as symbolic."

"Got it." Remy grins. "Mind if I join you?"

Careful. Your eyebrow might cut the roof in two. "Why?"

"Hey, if there's one thing I get, it's symbolism. Don't think you're the only one here with small feet, homme." Remy taps his foot on the ground and grins. "Come on, it could be fun. Besides, I look good. Better than you, even."

If you're looking for a true narcissus, you've found him. Jesus. "Whatever, Remy, you're ruining my train of thought here."

"Sorry."

Remy walks behind me, grinning and waving at random people. I think I should hate him. Probably. Someone told me I should once. It could have been you. Hate him, Warren, hate him because he was in the tunnels when you thought you lost your beauty, hate him because he's beautiful, hate him because when he walks people look. 

Or is that why he hates me?

"Are you a narcissus, Remy?"

"Me? Non. Not really. I couldn't love these demon eyes. They're sort of unsettling and such, sort of weird, and I'm not into weird, mon ami." Remy pauses. "Is this was this is about? I thought it was odd Jean put that mirror outside your room."

"Am I a narcissus, Remy?"

"Non. I don't think you like yourself that much."

"Don't I?"

"Non."

Well, insightful comments from Remy LeBeau. Like I said, stranger things have happened, or maybe he's as typecast as I am. For all his presence, I don't think most of the X-Men like him. 

Am I speaking about him or about me?

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. The prince was handsome but it was a bad handsome. People were so blinded by his beauty they couldn't see the real him. After awhile, he couldn't see the real him either. So he turned to his mirror and found the one person who judged him on who he really was, completely and wholly on the soul they both shared. 

Maybe I am a narcissus after all.


End file.
